“The hospital? Well, get it off him, then. Who knows how filthy the thing is.”
“I’m sure it’s been laundered,” Mr. Harris assured her. “During your recovery.”
“Still ... we have all these fine lovely blankets,” Katherine walked to the cedar chest herself and lifted its lid. “Please use these.”
“Yes, m’lady.” Sally bobbed her head.
Lady Katherine selected the ivory satin quilt, and realizing her mistress meantnow, Sally quickly unwound the hospital blanket from the infant. Lady Katherine handed her the quilt and took the embroidered blanket from her with two fingers held far from her body. She furrowed her brow and brought it closer to her face. “That’s odd ...”
“What is?” Mr. Harris asked.
“This stitching. I have seen something very like it before.”
“All stitching’s alike to me. It’s late—come to bed.”
“Very well. Dispose of this for me, please.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
Sally folded up the offending blanket but could not bring herself to discard it. After her employers left the room, she shoved it back down into the bottom of the chest.
Charlotte hired a hansom using the few bank notes her aunt had slipped into her hand prior to her recent departure. She knew she should not go. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Once more leaving Anne in Mae’s capable hands and donning her large brimmed bonnet, she stepped into the hansom and gave the driver the simple directions.
She had received her aunt’s note just yesterday. Knowing now that her niece had an ally in Dr. Taylor, Amelia Tilney had sent him a brief letter of gratitude, thanking him for alerting her to Charlotte’s situation and within that note, enclosed another addressed to Charlotte herself. Her aunt had thought to cheer her, Charlotte supposed, with her news. But she had not.
My Dear Charlotte,
I thought it might please you to know that two you have long held dear are celebrating the joyful occasion of the birth of a son. We all feared how your cousin Katherine would do, considering her somewhat advanced age and the discomfort she experienced late in her lying-in. But I know you will be happy to hear that all is well and Charles and Katherine have a little son they have named Edmund. I understand Katherine is to be churched this Wednesday at St. George’s Hanover Square. They have even graciously included your uncle and I in their plans for a christening dinner in honor of the occasion. Our old friend Lord Elton will also attend, so it will no doubt be a grand celebration. I am sure if things were different, you would have been invited as well. But let us think only on the joy of such news, in hopes that you will glean hope that life indeed goes on. It was a difficult lesson for me, but I hope to ease your way a little if I might. So please take this news with the happiness intended....
The letter went on to explain that after her recent visit to the manor, Aunt Tilney had instructed her driver to take her directly to Crawley to speak with her aunt personally, and yes, Margaret Dunweedy was still perfectly happy and willing to receive Charlotte and the child. But Charlotte’s mind was focused on the news of the churching to be held not so very far from the manor.
Charlotte arrived at St. George’s early, passed between the columns of the portico, and entered the grand church through a side door as discreetly as possible. She tiptoed through the entry hall, hoping to diminish the echo of her boots on the stone paving, and climbed the curved rear staircase to the upper gallery. Selecting a box to the rear, where she could see but hopefully remain unseen, she quietly opened its latch and sat on the bench. Below her, she saw a portly cleric lighting candles near the front altar, but otherwise there seemed to be no one about.
A quarter of an hour later, the center doors opened and a small group of gaily-dressed women entered, chattering and laughing like a clutch of hens. Charlotte recognized one of Katherine’s friends but none of the other regal ladies. There was Katherine in the center of them, wearing a pale blue walking dress and a fur-trimmed cape. A blue hat ornamented with feathers crowned her head. In her arms, she held a babe ... Charlotte’s babe, gowned even more lavishly than his attendants, in flowing white satin. As the women chatted amongst themselves, Charlotte heard bits of their plans to visit an elegant tearoom after the churching.
An Anglican priest in flowing robes entered and the women hushed. He directed them to a small chapel beside the chancel, its size conducive to the intimate gathering. There Katherine kneeled, as directed by theBook of Common Prayer, and the service began. Having grown up a vicar’s daughter, Charlotte knew the service was formally named the “Thanksgiving of Women after Childbirth.”
“‘For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God of His goodness to give you safe deliverance, and hath preserved you in the great danger of childbirth: you shall therefore give hearty thanks unto God,’” the priest intoned.
Katherine responded, “‘I am well pleased that the Lord hath heard the voice of my prayer. The snares of death compassed me round: and the pains of hell got hold upon me.’”
Charlotte unconsciously mouthed the familiar words along with her cousin. She was touched by the unexpected humility of Katherine’s audible response. She had long known Katherine to be cynical of religion, but her declaration seemed wholly sincere.
“‘Oh, Almighty God,’” the priest continued, “‘which hast delivered this woman thy servant from the great pain and peril of childbirth: Grant, we beseech thee, most merciful Father, that she through thy help, may both faithfully live and walk in her vocation, according to thy will in this life present ...’”
This part of the service did not apply to her, Charlotte realized with a dull ache. Katherine was being exhorted to remain faithful to her husband and to bear other heirs for him. Charlotte swallowed back remaining dregs of bitterness.
“‘... and also may be partaker of everlasting glory in the life to come: through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’”
WouldKatherine bear more children? Even though she was older and had experienced such a difficult childbirth? Katherine believed a healthy child had resulted from the ordeal ... so would Edmund yet have a brother or sister? Or would he grow up an only child?
“‘Children,’” continued the priest as he delivered the liturgy, “‘are an heritage and gift that cometh of the Lord. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them.’”
Charlotte sat and waited as Katherine’s friends filed cheerfully from the church, their heels and laughter echoing in the lofty space. Katherine paused to thank the cleric, then turned and followed after the others. Charlotte watched until Katherine and Edmund disappeared from view beneath the gallery railing.
Then her tear-filled gaze fled to a carving of Mary holding the infant Jesus and, above, the magnificent painting of Jesus at the Last Supper. She stared at the images as Katherine’s footsteps faded away below. Charlotte felt her lips part and her chest tighten. She had spent her life in a church not unlike this one, but this was the first time she had been so deeply struck by the immensity of what God had done in giving up His only Son.How did you do it?she breathed, tears running down her cheeks. Of course she knew the situations were beyond compare. God’s sacrifice had saved countless multitudes. Hers, only one precious child.
A few days after the churching, Katherine pulled the long-forgotten handkerchief from beneath the sachet in her drawer. How long had it lain there, concealed? The smell of musty lilac was heavy on the material, its folds now permanent creases. She turned it over and there it was. The unusual flower, the pod, the curve of the leaf resembling the letter C. Yes ... this was a C and now she remembered. This was Charlotte’s signature. Cousin Charlotte, who detested needlework but had nevertheless made a pretty handkerchief for Katherine as a gift for some birthday or Christmas many years ago now.
